Impala Conversations
by Alex L. Kerr
Summary: Sam and Dean joke, banter, bicker, and reconcile some rough truths.
1. Chapter 1

_Writer's Note #1: This is an AU where Kansas is considered to be southern U.S. and not midwestern. There's only one line in this entire story that relates to it, but it's one I wanted to keep. I don't want you guys to see it and get distracted by the canon inconsistency – so there you are. _

_As an aside, I seem to be amazing at the most unoriginal/boring AUs in the fandom (cite: Ordinary People, an AU where cell phone texting was more popular in the 1990's than it was in real life). Super funny._

_Writer's Note #2: **Warnings**. Pretty G-rated mentions of **child abuse**. Just covering my bases, though. Also the **language** is atrocious - swears galore. I'm still rating it as, 'T,' though, as I've never met a more foul-mouthed demographic (not judging, though ;). If anyone has a problem with the rating, though, shoot me a review/PM and I'll happily up the ante for ya._

_Danke Schoen!_

* * *

**Impala Conversations**

**Part I**

"Hey Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Wouldn't it be kind of funny if we died from like a totally low-level demon or random ghost or monster?"

Dean looked over at Sam in the passenger seat, disgruntled.

"Yeah. Fucking hilarious," Dean dead-panned. Sam gave a small smile, staring idly at the lonely highway in front of them. Dean glanced back at Sam. "You need to sleep, dude."

"No, whatever. I'm fine," Sam replied airily, and rearranged himself in the seat to get more comfortable.

"Why're you thinking about death?" Dean prompted, wondering if he was making the right choice to open the line of communication for Sam's thoughts here.

Sam shrugged and looked down at his hands.

"Seems like a reasonable thing to think about," he answered, then turned to look at Dean. "No?"

"No."

Sam rolled his eyes, but let it go.

"All right whatever. You want to talk about something else?" Sam asked good-naturedly.

"Yes," Dean responded immediately, "Let's."

"Okay," Sam replied easily, expecting to lift the weight by introducing another topic. "How about, um…" Sam thought for a few minutes as Dean continued driving.

"Okay I got it," Sam snapped his fingers.

"What?"

"What's your favorite monster? Or least favorite monster?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, what?" Sam asked, confused, "Why not?"

"Okay. Least favorite monster would be humans."

"Good one," Sam acknowledged, bowing his head slightly while also leaning over the seat back in order to grab a book.

"Favorite monster… Um," Dean faltered, squinting his eyes in thought. Sam fell back into the passenger seat and started flipping through pages, checking to see if a, 'favorite monster,' nominee could be found inside.

"We'd probably qualify our favorite as the easiest monster to kill-"

"Mmm, sure," Dean nodded, thinking, "Um..."

Sam clapped his hands lightly, his book forgotten in his lap.

"I know it! The scarecrow god thing."

"What? No," Dean retorted.

"What do you mean, 'no,'? We only had to torch a tree."

"Yeah but it almost killed us."

"Everything almost kills us."

"Fair. But still, no, there's got to be an easier kill that we've had…"

Sam squinted in thought, skeptical he could come up with anything easier than a tree. After awhile, Sam spoke up again.

"Pretty sure, 'Evil Tree,' wins."

* * *

**Part II**

Dean was gritting his teeth, praying for patience, as Sam continued to fiddle with the tape deck. They had just called a truce after a heated argument over the merits of instrument-based music versus lyrical-based music. Somewhere along the way, Sam had called him a philistine which really pissed him off for two reasons: one, that he knew Sam thought he didn't know what that word meant, and two, he, in fact, knew what that word meant and took offense to it.

And now here was Sam, messing with his baby, not even able to work a damn tape deck.

"Sam, what're you doing? Stop it," Dean murmured, his voice still clipped with irritation. Sam flinched his head up to get the hair out of his eyes and shot a disdainful glare at Dean.

"I'm trying to get _this_ tape out," Sam pointed angrily at the BOC cassette lodged inside the console, "And _this_ tape _in_," Sam indicated the Bob Dylan cassette he held firmly in his hand. He looked back down to the tape console and started trying to pull the jammed cassette out with his fingers.

"Sam, we've practically lived in this car our whole lives and you don't know how to work the god damn tape deck?" Dean retorted bitterly, misdirecting his anger. Sam was on the same wavelength, though, and they continued to inject an otherwise innocuous conversation with caustic vitriol.

"In case you don't remember, Dean, I always sat in the back seat-"

"Oh I remember, you got the back seat and a walkman, if I recall correctly."

"You have the memory of a fish. The walkman was yours."

"Which you always stole from me-"

"Because you and Dad listened to fucking terrible music!"

"Oh, here we go again-" Dean spat. Just in that moment, Sam decided to use his fist to bang against the tape deck console in the hopes of dislodging the jammed tape.

"Stop! _Dude!"_ Dean yelled, reaching out and pushing Sam away from the tape deck and almost knocking him against passenger seat.

"The damn thing is _broken_!" Sam yelled out as he was getting pushed, then went still and remained sitting in the passenger seat.

The two of them sat still, silent, with the broken tape deck before them, as the Impala rumbled past the empty rural landscape of Ohio.

The comedy of the situation started to become more and more obvious to Dean as they drove in silence: his sullen brother sitting next to him, slightly hurt that he was defending his baby's broken tape deck when all either of them really wanted was to listen to music.

After all, that had been the initial goal both of them agreed upon. They had simply, somehow, devolved a perfectly civil discussion on what music to select into a fight about genres which eventually led to personal insults.

And, now, they were both sitting in silence, pissed off at one another over… Something Dean couldn't quite rightly remember. Sam called him a philistine, but now Dean was inwardly chuckling, as Sam had probably been offended when he'd called him a pretentious asshole.

Dean licked pursed lips, trying to hold back a smile; it would surely be perceived as snide by his little brother. His attempts were somewhat fruitless, though, and he tried a different tack, glancing briefly a couple times at his brother with a wry half-smile.

Sam continued to frown. At the sight of Dean trying to get him in on the joke, he rolled his eyes, shook his head, and clenched his jaw. He reassigned his gaze straight ahead to the road: _this was not funny_.

Anyone that didn't know Sam would assume he was set and ready to hold his grudge, but not Dean. Sam was clearly overcompensating. Dean gave a small grin and reached out over to Sammy in the passenger seat. Sam didn't notice in time to bat Dean's hand away and suddenly felt Dean's hand start to nudge and poke him in the shoulder.

"Dean, stop it. Don't-" Sam pushed Dean's obnoxious arm away as he noticed Dean start to laugh quietly. Sam worked harder to maintain his anger, but then Dean immediately changed tacks and directed a shove against the side of Sam's head that Sam didn't see coming.

"Dean!" Sam yelled just as his head smacked the window lightly. The sound of it made Dean snort with laughter.

""Ow, fuck!" Sam yelled back in the midst of Dean's laughter. Finally, Dean caught Sam huff with laughter.

"So… Fucking… Immature!" Sam whined playfully as he rubbed the side of his head. "-You're such a _jerk!"_ Sam took a cheap shot, landing a sharp punch against Dean's shoulder which made Dean laugh harder. Sam was giving light laughs now, as well.

"Ah I didn't know you were going to hit the window," Dean said as he started to calm down, "Sorry - Are you okay?"

Sam shook his head, his lips pursed in a smile, and turned to look out the passenger side window. They were back to being fine.

After a few minutes of silence, Dean spoke up again.

"Hey will you open the glove compartment for me?"

"Yeah what do you want?" Sam asked lightly.

"So, there's a toothpick somewhere at the bottom of it-"

"Okay-?" Sam replied, expecting an explanation.

"D'you see it?"

"Yeah I got it," Sam replied, looking at the dirty, blunt ends of it. "I really hope you don't use this often as an actual tooth pick," Sam deadpanned.

"I don't," Dean replied airily. "Okay, so when the tape deck jams, you use the toothpick on the right side of the cassette to press against the latch inside and edge it out. From there you can just use your fingers."

Sam bent down to look over the tape deck and follow Dean's instructions.

"I use my fingers in concert with the toothpick?"

"Yeah."

"Okay let me see," he trailed off as he started working on it. Within a few seconds, the cassette was released from the cartridge.

"Bingo," Sam murmured as he delicately rolled the tape back into the wheels of the cassette with his fingers. He looked up at Dean.

"Good as new," he offered, gesturing to the BOC tape, and throwing it into the cardboard box in the back. Dean nodded his approval absently as Sam punched the Bob Dylan tape into the console and pressed play.

After a few lyrics in, Sam couldn't help but speak up.

"You know you could've just told me how to do that earlier-"

"-Yeah, I know," Dean interrupted in easy agreement. "Felt like being spiteful, though."  
Sam bobbed his head, acknowledging Dean's explanation as the truth.

"Sorry," Dean added offhandedly. Sam waved his hand, gesturing that it was nothing, as they continued the drive through Ohio.

* * *

**Part III**

"Hey, remember when Dad made us do those survival skills stuff when we were kids?" Sam asked as he carefully set his coffee back down, keeping one hand on the wheel.

Dean looked over to Sam, slightly bothered by the train of thought he knew his brother was on.

"Um, sure," Dean replied wearily.

"We should do that again some time," Sam said cheerfully.

"Why, in God's name, would you want to do that again?"

Sam gave Dean a double-take, then shrugged as he kept his eyes on the road.

"I don't know. It was kinda fun, I always thought. What?" Sam added when he heard Dean's incredulous guffaw next to him.

"Fun for _you_, maybe, but Dad was a total ass when I'd be out there with him," Dean said as he tried to stretch his arms and legs in the passenger seat. He'd meant it as a passing comment, but he sounded serious, a hint of bitterness having surfaced in his tone.

"Really?" Sam prompted, surprised, then fixed Dean with a piercing stare. Dean realized he'd overstepped his bounds; accidentally inferring that he'd experienced traumas that he wasn't particularly interested in divulging.

"Well, yeah," he said lightly, trying to neutralize Sam's intuition, "I mean, no big deal, just that I was literally consistently uncomfortable – no beds, the insects – you know," Dean finished airily, trying to backpedal. Sam tilted his head in thought as Dean spoke, eventually nodding.

"Yeah you always got bit to hell. I remember that."

"Right," Dean confirmed , "It was _not_ awesome."

Dean hoped that would be the end of the discussion. He glanced at Sam and inwardly cringed when he saw his brother's eyes narrow: damn his little brother's memory. He couldn't remember a time when he could gloss things over with Sam, but he'd been hoping this was going to be that one time. But no.

"All right, but you said _Dad_ was an ass to you," Sam said pensively, then glanced at Dean for a second with a confused expression. "So, what'd _Dad_ do?" He finished.

Dean gave an infinitesimal shake of his head to himself in regret; he shouldn't have said anything.

"Dean?" Sam checked after a few moments had passed without an answer from his brother. Dean turned with raised his eyebrows. He rolled his eyes at the look of concern Sam was wearing as he kept his eyes on the road; his mind obviously on Dean's reluctance to answer him.

Dean sighed, annoyed that he'd just accidentally made things more dramatic by delaying his response to Sam's question.

"Sam, it's nothing. Dad was just a little more intense with me about training than he was with you. You've always known that anyway. Shouldn't come as a surprise," Dean finally said, a little defensively.

He was telling the truth, too. Sam, Dean, and even John, knew exactly how their family dynamics worked, and it wasn't necessarily dysfunctional. Take out, 'hunting monsters and demons,' and replace it with, 'getting good grades,' and the parenting strategy of most families with siblings played out in the same exact fashion.

Older siblings were worked harder by their parents to achieve excellence; the younger children could often fly under the radar, especially if the older siblings vouched and covered for their younger counterparts.

In all truth, the only major deviation from the typical family dynamic was the extent to which Dean covered for Sam. It was a deviation with details and events that even Sam was not fully aware of, even to this day. The only thing he was certain about, though, was that he'd just stumbled upon one.

"So what'd he do with you that he didn't do with me?" Sam asked innocently, knowing he was treading into sensitive territory. Dean gave a nonchalant wince.

"Stupid stuff," he tried to deflect.

"Okay. What kind of stupid stuff?" Sam pressed, trying to sound casual so Dean wouldn't switch into a defensive mode.

Dean was obviously not pleased with the subject at hand, but he was willing to answer Sam as long as Sam didn't make a big deal out of it. He wiped his face and considered which, 'activity,' he'd talk about.

"Okay, so. Remember the time where I separated from you guys to camp on my own for a couple of days?"

"Yeah-?" He confirmed apprehensively. Dean chuckled at the memory he was playing out.

"That wasn't exactly what happened."

"What happened?" Sam asked, trying to sound lighthearted despite his worry.

"Dad just ditched me. Took me two days to get back to camp because we had crossed the river and Dad had taken the canoe to the other side when he was getting back to you."

Sam reacted accordingly to this news.

"What?! What the hell? What'd you do?!"

Dean smiled good-naturedly.

"Had to walk upstream to get to a narrow channel; almost wiped out trying to forge through it."

"Holy shit, Dean!" Sam said, appalled, "How old were you?"

Dean immediately squinted his eyes in thought, bobbing his head in estimation.

"Ah, thirteen? Fourteen? Somewhere around there."

There was a silent lull in conversation as Sam reframed his memories to incorporate the new truth. He set his jaw in anger as he recalled his father lying to his face that Dean was totally set and safe to be on his own as a, 'test,' which, 'Dean said he wanted to do,' of independent survival skills.

It occurred to Sam that he really _hadn't_ been given the same treatment when he'd reached that age.

"Did he decide not to do that with me because you almost wiped out in the river?" Sam asked, assuming this had been the case, but still curious.

Dean cocked an eyebrow up, giving Sam a knowing smile, then turned back to look out the window.

"Nah. I just told him it was a shit training exercise."

"-And he listened to you?" Sam blurted, trying to keep his eyes on Dean _and_ the road at the same time.

"Eyes on the road, Sam," Dean pointed at the windshield.

"Okay but… He _listened_ to you?!" Sam pressed, still astonished.

Dean shrugged, licked his lips, and smiled mischievously.

"Kinda. I pretty much just told him that if he was going to do that to you, I'd _know_," Dean said, his tone indicating a touch of threat as he recalled his words. Within two seconds, he lightened his tone, "-Aaand that I'd come find you," Dean finished simply. He grinned when he looked over to Sam; winked when Sam glanced over at Dean.

Sam looked back at the road, his brow furrowed, and bit his lip as he mulled over Dean's words.

"You didn't have to do that," Sam finally said softly, feeling slightly ashamed that he had grown up so sheltered (relatively speaking, that is, when compared to Dean).

"Yeah I did. It _was_ a shit exercise. All I learned was that Dad was an asshole when he got psyched about, 'survival,' training," Dean air-quoted. He rearranged himself in the car, lazily placing his feet up on the dash. The box of cassette tapes was in the passenger seat well. Dean snatched it up and put it on his stomach, idly sorting through them.

"What else did he do to you?" Sam asked with disgusted wonder.

Dean screwed his face up from the box and looked at Sam.

"Sam, c'mon, he didn't _do_ anything to me. It wasn't like that," he said dismissively, conveying that Sam was over-blowing the situation, and looked back down at the tapes.

"No, really," Sam pressed.

"_No, really_," Dean mocked as he continued to order and search for the perfect next tape to go into the deck.

Sam realized Dean wasn't going to go into any further detail if he was resorting to the, 'mock mimic,' deflection strategy. He kept driving, the silence between them relatively casual were it not for the building tension in Sam as he started to wonder about those trips.

What other bizarre, 'trials,' had Dean been forced to go through at the mercy of their grief-stricken, revenge-obsessed father? Sam had to admit that their father could be a pretty dark guy, at times, and that it was likely Dean had taken the brunt of it. Sam tried to trace back to memories of those times, and that's when it hit him.

"_Holy shit!_" Sam exclaimed in anger, making Dean jump.

"What?! What is it?!" Dean yelled back, looking around with wide, alert eyes. When Sam realized he'd scared Dean, he immediately replied back.

"Oh no, no nothing…" He calmed down, trying to indicate that nothing was happening that needed Dean's full attention in real life. "No, no, I was just thinking…"

"Jesus, Sam!" Dean yelled, annoyed, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Th-That time you passed out… You were like… I don't know, sixteen?" At Sam's initial sentence, Dean caught the memory at full blast and would have rolled his eyes in a perfect three-sixty, if he could.

"Oh god, Sam, really?" He whined, _hating_ that Sam had just remembered that incident.

"You had to go to the hospital! And I gave you so much shit for it!"

"Yeah," Dean nodded in approval, and grunted a laugh: "Right. And you should've, because it was just a sprained ankle."

"-But, you wouldn't have passed out from just the pain of a sprained ankle," Sam said, following logic that he hadn't had when he was only twelve years old. He'd never thought to question it since. Until now.

"Yeah, well, I did. Ha ha," Dean waved his hand as if he was unfolding natural events, but Sam shook his head and glanced at Dean.

"No, man, you were there for longer than you should've been. You were _admitted_," Sam recalled, and Dean sighed. "People don't get admitted even if they _break _their bones," Sam pointed out, "So, what else were you being treated for, Dean?"

Dean rolled his head from one side to the other, considering.

"All right. If I tell you, you promise to drop this?"

Sam bit his lip and narrowed his eyes in consideration as he stared through the windshield.

"Fine. Yes," Sam finally gave in and lied. He looked back at Dean, who pursed his lips and gave an exaggerated nod.

"Okay. I was getting treated for dehydration and _very very moderate…_ Malnutrition," Dean admitted.

Sam had half-expected this answer, but Dean's confirmation made his stomach turn.

"Dean…" Sam trailed off, feeling heavy.

"I _know_, Sam! Dad was an asshole-"

"Was he being negligent or something? Did you just not know you weren't drinking enough water or- or whatever?" Sam asked, awkwardly trying to find anything that could possibly, _slightly_ exonerate their father. Sam glanced at Dean and his heart sank as he took in Dean's now wilted posture and regretful expression.

"No, Sammy," his tone was low, serious and sad. "He had me on an agenda; testing your last reserves and all that _shit_," he finished as he flicked a tape cassette into the box with repressed anger.

Sam pursed his lips, trying to cap the rage he felt for his father, now, and zeroed in on the pattern of the highway's white strips. He blinked a few times and noticed his eyes were somewhat watery. A few minutes later, Sam piped up again, another thought occurring to him.

"That's when you started smuggling food into our packs and stuff before we went out on those trips," Sam commented. He glanced over at Dean, who was absentmindedly nodding.

"Yeah," Dean answered levelly, "Believe it or not, candy – chocolate – coca cola, salty snacks can take the edge off until you get something more substantial in you."

"Like donuts?" Sam asked, unable to hide a small smile at the memory of his excitement when Dean had pulled donuts from out of his bag in their tent after their father had gone to sleep. Sam had been starving and Dean was his hero for having packed what he thought were simply delicious treats for the two of them to indulge in together before bed. Sam glanced at Dean, and saw him smiling, too, down at the box of tapes, and nodding. It was weird to share an otherwise happy moment of childhood nostalgia when Sam now knew the real motivation behind why Dean had packed such provisions.

"Like donuts, sure," Dean responded, sounding uncharacteristically wise, "Anything with carbs. Dad always had us on a protein diet because he made eggs, but he never covered us with enough carbs or water for the training we were doing."

"Did he ever find out what you were doing?"

Dean shrugged.

"If he did, he never said anything about it. He felt terrible he'd landed me in the hospital."

Sam huffed indignantly on his brother's behalf, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Dean looked up at Sam's reaction, suddenly picking up on his attitude. He needed to rectify it; fast, before Sam corrupted his memories of their father any further.

"Pull the car over, would you?" Dean asked seriously. Sam gave Dean a sullen expression, then acquiesced, slowing the car down to a stop along the emergency lane.

When the Impala came to a full stop, Dean just murmured, "C'mon," as he got out the car. Sam followed Dean out to lean against the hood with him.

"Okay," Dean started, then noticed Sam's reluctance to look him in the eyes. "Hey, Sam? Listen," Dean started, sounding genuinely concerned. Sam brushed his nose with his sleeve, trying to be inconspicuous as he tried to rub his eyes free of moisture. He looked up in an automatic response to Dean, though, and blinked a tear that started to drip along the side of his face. He caught it quickly with his sleeve, but Dean saw it. Tilting his head, Dean fixed Sam with worried, compassionate eyes.

"Sammy, all parents make mistakes, man-"

"Not like _those_ ones, they don't," Sam retorted, his emotions instantly transforming to anger, again, on Dean's behalf. Dean grimaced, biting his bottom lip gravely. He gave a slight nod, then continued, all the while keeping his eyes focused on Sam.

"I'll grant you this. Dad's mistakes were a little off the rails, sometimes, but… Sam, _I'm_ _fine_," Dean said meaningfully, gesturing to his chest for emphasis. "Dad always tried his best. Even when his best was being an asshole, he wasn't ever trying to hurt me."

"But he _did_ hurt you!" Sam pushed, shouting. His tears were gone and, in their wake, came fury.

Now that Sam was pissed, Dean had a little more leeway on how to handle the situation. He gave a huff of skeptical laughter, and reset his stance, opening his arms out to the world.

"Do I look hurt to you?" Dean replied dismissively. "I'm invincible, what are you talking about?" Dean tried to joke.

"Dean!" Sam shot back, unable to be neutralized. Dean's expression fell with disappointment for a second, then proceeded to transform into a clear warning. Sam didn't take the hint.

"Dean, what Dad did-" he spat, dripping with contempt, but he didn't get any farther than that.

It was an unconscious hierarchy of speech: Dad could interrupt Dean, Dean could interrupt Sam, and nobody could interrupt Dad.

"Sam, _all_ parents accidentally hurt their kids. There's no such thing as a perfect parent, all right?" Dean yelled at Sam, utterly annoyed. Sam shook his head, his jaw set and his eyes focused on Dean.

"You shouldn't have to rationalize his actions-"

"I'm not rationalizing anything, Sam! I'm telling you the _truth_ here!" Dean yelled in frustration. "Jesus _Christ,"_ Dean shouted to the sky as he turning around for a second, begging for a reprieve from this inane argument. Sam watched him, still eyeing his brother with conviction; still pissed off.

Suddenly, Dean turned back around and walked up to Sam, his expression dark and threatening. Sam held his ground, but couldn't help feeling intimidated by Dean's anticipated wrath as he strode towards him. For a second, Sam thought Dean was actually going to punch him, but then he stopped to stand directly in front of him.

Dean's face was so close to Sam's he could hear his brother's agitated breaths when he started his heated speech.

"You listen to me. _I've_ forgiven Dad for his mistakes."

Sam couldn't look away from Dean's crystal clear green eyes as they pierced into his own.

"-And _I_ made _damn_ sure he didn't make them with _you_."

Sam flinched, feeling unwarranted guilt, but guilt nonetheless.

"-_Now_, all of a sudden, you know about a _couple_ of them… And _you're _gonna start this shit – getting pissed off at him on _my_ behalf?!"

Sam gritted his teeth and blinked a few times in the midst of Dean's words as his rage escalated.

"I'm _OVER _it! He's _DEAD_, _Sam_!"

Sam visibly jolted twice over at Dean's emphasized words, his last statement causing him to hold his breath to stop himself from breaking down entirely.

Dean kept rolling with his rant, nearly, but not truly, out of control.

"-And _now_, _NOW?_ You want to have words with him about his _parenting_ on _ME!_?"

Dean paused, breathing heavily and staring daggers at his brother. He stepped back just then, leaving his little brother room to exhale. Immediately Sam realized he couldn't breathe very easily: his throat catching with emotion, now a victim of silent hyperventilation. Sam turned to stare at the ground in an attempt to compose himself in the face of Dean's biting words. Sam literally jumped when he heard Dean next.

"_GET OFF YOUR FUCKING CROSS, SAM! Somebody needs the god damn wood!"_ Dean roared, causing Sam to look up sharply at Dean. "_You're a martyr for NOTHING. You're _wasting_ your _time_ with this _bullshit!"

Sam had tried to hide how startled he was by crossing his arms around himself protectively as a continuation of the supposed deliberate movement. He immediately went back to looking down at the ground, hoping Dean hadn't really read into his expression when he had looked up.

Grief, guilt, and shame had shot across Sam's features at Dean's final ranted line and, as always, Dean caught everything.

He'd even picked up on a hint of fear and, while Dean wasn't proud of it, in the back of his mind he was slightly impressed he could still have that effect on his freakishly tall, twenty-five year old, 'little,' brother.

Dean stared, in silence, at Sam and noticed that he was taking an unusually long time to respond, leaning against the hood of the car, holding himself with both arms as his face remained bowed to the ground.

After a few more seconds, Dean inwardly chided himself as he saw Sam rub his face with his sleeve again. Of course he would have this effect on his little brother. His brows furrowed with sympathy at the sight of him.

He might've gone a little overboard with his tirade.

Dean gave a split-second cringe from where he stood, a couple feet from the Impala, and sighed slowly as a means to gather back his ordinarily even-keeled demeanor. He took the few steps needed to get over to the Impala and lean against the hood right next to Sam.

Up close, he could tell Sam was still having major difficulty in regaining his composure. He could see Sam's body shaking. Just barely, but he saw it, and Sam had angled his face to be fully hidden from his line of sight as Dean had walked over to sit next to him. Sam rubbed his face with his sleeve, and Dean heard a quick intake of breath, muffled by the sound of the sleeve he had over his mouth.

Regret struck through Dean just as much as his words had struck through Sam.

"Shit, Sammy, I'm sorry," he whispered softly, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam sniffed and flicked his head back a little to get the hair out of his eyes. His gaze was still directed away from Dean, though.

"No, it's cool," Sam said, but his voice caught on a tremble, and Dean leaned in closer to put his arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam hunched further into himself, making it easier for Dean to cover him, and Dean tightened his grip along Sam's arm reassuringly.

Sam continued his efforts to look anywhere but in Dean's direction as a means of keeping himself together. Dean didn't release his hold on Sam, though; Sam would've shaken him off if he actually didn't want Dean around him. So Dean just waited until Sam spoke up again.

"I'm really sorry," Sam whispered as he stared out at the highway. Dean's eyes searched the air as he tried to figure out what Sam meant. Unable to figure it out, he tilted his head in Sam's direction.

"For what, Sam?" He asked carefully. Sam sniffed and breathed a little heavily; Dean couldn't see Sam's expressions, but knew enough to re-grip Sam again and keep his hold steady.

"For, um," Sam's voice quivered for a second, but he persevered, "All the stuff with Dad, you know," Sam almost broke at the end, and Dean tightened his hold on Sam yet again. Dean was having difficulty understanding what was going on in Sam's head, here, though.

"Sam… It-It wasn't your fault, kiddo-" Dean said gently, a hint of confusion evident in

his tone. That's when Sam turned around to look at Dean with pleading wide eyes.

"Yeah but I would've had your back if I'd have known-" Sam choked out, a couple of tears sliding their way down his face. Just as Sam looked back down at the ground, Dean's mouth broke into a small, compassionate smile. "I'm so sorry I didn't know, Dean-" Sam whispered in anguish before Dean could interrupt him.

"-Sam…" Dean said slowly, both touched and amused in the same measure. Dean tried hard not to laugh, now, though, as he lightly pulled his brother a few times in for a hug. Sam wouldn't give in on the first try; Dean's pull was too weak. Sam swayed on the second try but gave a kneejerk resistance, trying to simply maintain his stoic stare on the highway.

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder, then moved his hand to the back of Sam's neck fondly and applied the lightest pressure. Sam finally turned in to Dean, wrapping both arms around his back, giving a fast inhale that _almost_ qualified as a sob against Dean's shoulder.

Affection for his little brother flooded through Dean as he felt Sam grip him with a tighter grasp than he was expecting. Dean gave a couple of soft laughs as his little brother clutched to him like an anchor. Sam didn't shed tears or make a single sound; he just stayed still and held on. And Dean simply returned the embrace in kind, although admittedly with a gentle sense of humor about why it was happening in the first place.

After a few moments, Sam moved his head to face away from Dean on his shoulder.

"You're laughing," Sam muttered, his voice still a little shaky.

"Yeah, sorry," Dean whispered delicately against Sam's ear. Still smiling, Dean rested the side of his face against Sam's head, gave a long sigh, and started talking with the relaxed, comforting drawl that hinted at their southern roots.

"Sam, what happened was a _really_ long time ago, okay? You don't need to be sorry about it; I'm over it. Totally over it," Dean reassured. He could feel Sam vaguely nod his head against his shoulder as Dean continued. Dean heaved a heavy sigh as he moved his arm up along Sam's spine soothingly.

"-And _obviously_ you'd have my back, dude. You've had my back since forever – nothing's changed; whatever shit went down when we were kids-"

Sam slowly started to release his hold, leaning his own weight against the car again.

Dean took Sam's movements in stride, allowing him to set the pace.

"-was completely out of your control. Okay?"

Dean stopped speaking, looking to Sam with the hopes that he'd said the right things. Sam nodded, rubbing his temples back and ending up with his hands bracing the back of his head, trying to diminish the last of his anxiety. His red-rimmed eyes glanced at Dean, whose expression hadn't changed, and, somewhat ashamed, Sam blinked as he stared at the road again, nodding.

"Okay, yeah," Sam finally said, his voice coming back to normal.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, sympathetic yet still cracking a small smile. Sam nodded more vehemently this time and gave Dean the best split-second smile he could manage in return.

"Yeah," he repeated, his voice firm.

A few moments of silence passed by between them; a respectful terminal between Sam's meltdown and whatever the next topic would be. It was coming up on dusk and the sunset would cause some dangerous glare on the windshield. _Should probably get a car wash soon again, _Dean thought idly. He looked down at his shirt and jeans and picked a few stray threads.

"Should we, ah, get going?" Sam murmured tiredly. Dean gave it a second and then replied.

"Sure," he said simply, sorely moving off the hood of the car. He waited for Sam to do the same.

"You got the keys?"

"They're in the ignition," Sam replied evenly.

"Okay," Dean said as he started walking over to the driver's side.

"You want-"

"Nah," Dean interrupted his brother, knowing Sam was about to offer to drive. Dean shot Sam a crooked smile and Sam huffed a laugh.

"Fair enough," Sam murmured as he opened the car door at the same time as Dean. They both settled into the Impala's seats and Dean turned the engine over, shifted gears, and started pulling the car out.

"You gonna sleep?"

"Nah. I don't know," Sam said tiredly.

"Okay well. I think we should probably get off the road soon, anyway. The glare on the windshield's getting pretty bad," Dean commented honestly, satisfied he'd found a legitimate excuse to take a breather from driving, now.

"Okay."

"Okay," Dean repeated. After a few seconds, Dean couldn't help himself. "You all right?" He asked gruffly, then glanced at Sam, who swallowed awkwardly and glanced back at Dean, nodding.

"Yeah," he whispered and looked down. "Thanks."

Dean found Sam's shoulder with his hand and gave it a small, meaningful squeeze. A

few moments later, he clapped him on the back with the same hand, hard, causing Sam to jut forward in the seat for a second and gasp in surprise.

Before Sam could complain, Dean accepted Sam's appreciation appropriately.

"No problem, bitch."

Sam, rubbing his shoulder where Dean had slapped him, twitched a smile.

"-Jerk."

* * *

_Writer's Note: Thank you so much for reading – feedback is tremendously appreciated! Cheers! ~ Alex Kerr_


	2. Chapter 2

_Writer's Note: Surprise! This story is continuing on with a flashback! Just in case this happens again, I'm going to leave this story open as incomplete, as I might feel compelled to write the hospital one, too, now. Cheers! ~ Alex_

_"Okay, so. Remember the time where I separated from you guys to camp on my own for a couple of days?"_

_"Yeah-?" He confirmed apprehensively. Dean chuckled at the memory he was playing out._

_"That wasn't exactly what happened."_

Dripping wet, Dean slopped his way uphill to where he knew they had set up camp about a week ago. He was exhausted, freezing, and dirty. At every step, he was cursing his father, coming up with new and unique insults to throw at him once he got back. It was turning into a speech, by now, given how he had spent the past forty-eight hours thinking about it. That is, when he wasn't figuring out how to get back without severe injury.

"All right, Dean, I'll be back with Sam," were the last words John had said to him. And when he wasn't back within the hour, Dean started to worry. It was around four in the afternoon. Dean made the trek back to the river and he could see the canoe docked on the other side. Given that the river was the only thing that posed much danger on the trail, he was reasonably sure nothing could've happened to his Dad.

Somehow, Dad and Sam must have gotten delayed. Dean went back to camp and set up the fire, thinking if they weren't going to cross within the next hour, they probably wouldn't be crossing at all tonight. Dusk was setting in, and it was never a good idea to cross a body of water in low visibility.

An hour later, Dad and Sam hadn't shown, and Dean set up for the night. It was unfortunate that they hadn't brought tents. Instead, Dean had to sit near the fire on the ground. He picked out some canned soup and got it boiling; as he ate, he started checking out some gear his father had left. Inside was a note.

And that's when Dean realized that his father had no intention of coming back; that, in fact, John had set Dean up with the bare necessities and, as a training exercise, was charging him with the task of getting back to camp on his own.

"Fucking A," Dean murmured as he read the note.

It started to rain around four in the morning and Dean woke up drenched, his face lying in mud on the ground. He tried his best to find a narrow part of the river to cross about two hours later at dawn. It was a useless pursuit: the rain was bloating the river.

Dean bided his time until the rain ended – and waited for the river to narrow after the rainfall. He wanted to get back to camp that day, but it quickly became clear that at least a day would have to pass for the river to get back to normal. Dean set a fire and tried to dry his clothes in the afternoon. He ate one more can of soup. He tried to get some sleep, but the insects had come out during the rain and Dean ended up spending most of his night cursing his father and swatting mosquitoes and ants off of him.

The next morning was spent trekking up the river to find a narrower channel. The channel was chest deep in the middle; Dean had been terrified for a few minutes that it would get deeper or that the undercurrent would suddenly wipe him out. Unfortunately, the latter did come to pass, and Dean was swept downriver until he grabbed onto an overhanging branch, scuttled closer to the right side of the river, then lost his grip again and continued further, eventually slamming into a boulder. He grabbed onto the boulder, and lifted himself out of the river for a short period of time. He realized the back of his head was bleeding, but paid it no mind. He was now very close to the right side of the river, and decided to make a break for it from the boulder.

It worked.

Dean crawled onto the shore and collapsed. He waited for his heart rate to get back to normal. His breathing came back to normal and he got up, used his compass, and started walking back to camp.

It was around eleven in the morning when Dean spotted smoke billowing from their camp. He put his compass away and trekked in the general direction. Now that he knew he'd be back with his family within minutes, he realized that for all the hate he felt towards his father at the moment, he was actually just devastated.

He didn't know if he'd even be able to speak, much less yell, at his father once he'd gotten up to camp.

He reached level ground and was within sight of the camp. John was sitting near the fire, cooking breakfast and Sam was nearby, reading a book. Looked like a totally wholesome scene, except for the battered fourteen year old stalking his way towards them.

John looked up right then and Dean saw his expression turn into a radiant smile.

"Dean!" He called as he got up, waving. Dean just continued trudging his way up to camp. He saw Sam snap out of his book and look up. He set it on the ground and started running towards him.

"Dean! Hey, Dean, how was it?!" Sam called out as he raced towards him. Dean was still livid at their father, but softened a little bit when Sam ran over to him.

"Hey buddy," Dean murmured, confused about how enthusiastic Sam seemed.

"Hey Dean!" Sam greeted him with a hug, which Dean sorely responded to. He stopped walking and put an arm around Sam. Sam was dry… And warm.

"Hey buddy," Dean said weakly, looking down at his kid brother in confusion. Sam responded with bright eyes.

"Wow, you're sopping wet… Screw nature, though, right? You passed the test!" Sam said excitedly as the two of them walked back to camp. Their father was standing by the fire, smiling with pride, as he waited for the two of them.

"Um, yeah I guess I did, Sammy," Dean replied dully.

"You don't seem that happy. What's wrong?" Sam asked, ever the perceptive kid. Dean stopped and looked at Sam blankly. He scratched his head and grimaced as he hit a scab with his nails.

"Ah, just not feelin' too hot," Dean said slowly, then continued towards camp. Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder for balance and Sam let him, noticing Dean's lackluster bearing and falling silent beneath it. He didn't understand what was wrong; he thought Dean would be triumphant upon his return, having battled the elements all alone and coming out victorious. Instead, Dean seemed tired and disappointed, and whenever that mood came through, Sam knew to be quiet; respectful. Sam wrapped his arm around Dean's waist and realized just how wet he was. He didn't say anything about it, though.

When they reached camp, John's brilliant smile seemed to temper, then extinguish as Dean approached. Dean came up to his father, Sam by his side, and just stared dumbly at him. Dean's behavior was charging the air; something was _wrong_ and Sam could feel it.

"So, learn some new skills?" John tried to joke good-naturedly. Dean looked from John to Sam. Sam looked back up at Dean with trepidation, now knowing that something was really off-kilter with what was going on. Dean glanced at John a second and turned back to Sam.

"Hey Sam, could you leave us alone for a little bit?"

Sam looked at John, pleading with his father to overrule Dean and let him stay.

"Go ahead and take our morning walk, Sam," John said as he nodded his approval. Sam bit his lip and, with a couple of glances at the two of them, Sam left the camp.

Dean looked after the spot where Sam had disappeared.

"Dean?" John prompted, taking a step closer to his eldest son and reaching an arm out. He softly laid it on Dean's shoulder.

At his father's touch, Dean flinched, grabbed his father's arm, and tried to swing a punch at John's jaw. John was quick to act, though, and blocked it. At the block, he gripped Dean's right arm and pulled Dean off-balance towards him. As Dean stumbled forward, John backed up to grab Dean around the waist from behind. Struggling all the way, John got Dean on the ground and in a hold.

"Dean, Dean calm down, buddy," John said levelly; he had barely broken a sweat while Dean was heaving breathes, trying to get free of his Dad's hold.

"Fuck you," Dean gasped as he started to relax. His Dad loosened his hold a little bit at the sound of his son's voice – it had trembled, and John was slightly shocked to hear that his son might be on the brink of tears.

"Dean, what happened?" John asked solicitously. He let his son break away from his grip and back up away from him on the ground.

"You left me alone in the fucking forest, is what happened! You asshole!" Dean spat back, very close to tears.

"Dean, come on. That was the test," John replied rationally.

"It's a bullshit test!" Dean yelled, furious. Despite himself, Dean started to cry.

"Dean-" John tried to come closer to his son, but Dean backed away.

"You could've _told me_!" Dean gasped out in between sobs. John tried harder to come closer to his son; to offer him comfort. Dean hit his arm away, though, and scrambled to stand up.

"No, leave me alone-" Dean said quietly, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Just leave me alone," he finished disdainfully, and walked away from John. John allowed it, and stood there, slightly shocked, as he watched his eldest son trudge back to the tent Sam and him normally shared.

Dean swiped open the tent to grab clean, dry jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He changed and put his wet, muddy clothes up on the line outside before going into the tent again to lie down.

Dean slept for nearly the entire afternoon and only came out again around dusk. John was cooking dinner silently with Sam resting against a log around the fire. After a few half-hearted attempts at conversation to dispel the obvious tension, Sam gave up. They ate dinner quietly as the fire crackled and the sounds of the forest at night started to pick up in volume.

Sam, unlike Dean, had been training with their father all day. He was exhausted after dinner and decided to call it a night earlier than Dean and John. He made his way to his tent alone, rummaged around for his reading light, and got into his sleeping bag with a book.

John and Dean sat outside together, picking at their plates, under the clear night sky. The fire danced around their faces: Dean looked haggard, John steady and calm. Dean heaved a sigh and looked up at his father.

"That wasn't a training exercise, Dad, that was cruel and unusual," Dean said tiredly.

"Dean, I didn't know you'd take it like this-"

"Dad, stop. Whatever. Just don't ever do it again," Dean interrupted, a note of disgust in his tone. John stopped speaking, closed his mouth, and nodded lazily.

"Okay," he replied lightly. "I won't do it again," he promised.

"I mean never. Not with me; not with Sam. Ever. I'll know if you do - with Sam - and I swear to God-"

John put his hands up.

"Okay! Okay, Dean. I promise, all right?" John interrupted. Dean didn't look at his father's expression; he didn't care to see the man's annoyance that Dean hadn't enjoyed his, 'test.'

Dean nodded as he looked into the fire.

"Good. So I guess we're clear," Dean eventually replied as he got up and dusted himself off. John looked at him as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

"I'm going to bed," Dean said, looking up at his father expectantly. John took the hint.

"Ah right okay. Sleep well, then," John replied lightly.

"You too," Dean murmured nicely as he turned towards the tent. John watched Dean zip the tent and get inside. He leaned back in his chair comfortably and mulled things over in the night. The brilliant fire was mesmerizing as he considered Dean's experience.

Inside the tent, Dean murmured a, 'hey,' to his half-asleep brother and softly moved into his sleeping bag.

"Hey," Sam replied dreamily, then turned around a little bit to see Dean, "Hey what were you doing today? Dad said you were sick – are you sick?" Sam asked groggily as he rolled over completely to face Dean. Dean got comfortably situated in his sleeping bag, lying on his side facing Sam.

"Nah I'm fine, Sammy," Dean yawned.

"What were you doing?" Sam pressed, his voice still sleepy, but his question clear and direct.

"I was just resting; I'll be fine by the morning, though."

"You seem really unhappy. Did anything bad happen to you?"

"Nope," Dean reassured Sam, "Just got wet and missed you guys."

"But you knew you'd be leaving; Dad said he filled you in and you were up for the game or test or whatever," Sam whispered back. Dean lucked out that his facial expressions weren't easy to see; his face screwed up with repulsion at the lie.

"Um, sure, yeah. But that doesn't mean I can't miss you guys."

Sam paused for a few seconds. Dean closed his eyes.

"We missed you too," Sam commented sleepily, and Dean smiled a little bit in the dark.

"Thanks, bud."

Sam turned back around in his sleeping bag. After a few more minutes, Dean was starting to doze until Sam's voice cut through the silence in the tent.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked tentatively.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sam," Dean murmured back blearily.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed, nearly asleep. He'd been considering it before and rejected it, but now that Sam was still talking to him with such a worried tone, Dean gave a sigh and figured what the hell. Without much preamble, he extended an arm around Sam and pulled him in. Sam gave way easily, letting his big brother bring him over, and they settled together; Dean's hand resting lightly over Sam, who was now tucked against Dean's chest.

Dean fell into an easy sleep, comforted by Sam's warm presence. Sam remained awake for awhile longer, hoping that he was helping to make Dean feel better. It was rare that Sam knew, in full, the reasons behind why Dad or Dean were ever upset. But when they were, Sam sensed it easily... And always tried to be there, in some way, for them.

The following morning, Dean woke up lying on his back with Sam still huddled against him, facing him, on his shoulder.

Dean gave a small smile and dozed for a little while longer, his animosity and disdain for their father draining out of him as the minutes ticked by. It was quiet in the tent; early morning birds chirped outside. Sam looked peaceful and relaxed as he continued to sleep on Dean. Dean wrapped his arm around Sam a little tighter and accidentally woke him up.

Sam's head moved once, then again, and with barely-opened eyes, he raised his head to look up at Dean.

"Hey-" Sam croaked and blinked. Dean was looking at Sam when he spoke and screwed his face into exaggerated revulsion.

"Morning. Man, your breath is terrible oh my god," Dean joked in a sleepy whisper, softly rubbing Sam's back as a signal to wake up a little and get off him. Sam didn't take the hint and allowed his head to fall back down, this time against Dean's chest.

"Uh!" Dean grunted, not having expected Sam's head to weigh so much. Sam looked back up, alert, then grinned.

"Ah, dude your head is like an anvil…"

"Ha, sorry…" He laughed weakly and slid off of Dean. Dean sat up in the tent and rummaged around for his clothes.

"C'mon Sammy. Up and at 'em," he said cheerfully as he started pushing and shoving at Sam who was still lying down. Sam swatted vaguely at him, missing Dean's arm repeatedly.

"You suck," Sam's voice was muffled by the sleeping bag.

"_You_ suck. C'mon get up. Let's go out and see what Dad's cooking."

"Let me guess. Eggs."

Dean hoisted his jeans on in the tent, got up, and looked at Sam's prone body in the sleeping bag. Dean flashed a mischievous smile and stepped over Sam's body.

"…Dean? What're you doing-?" Sam grunted apprehensively, sensing Dean's presence above him. Dean grabbed Sam under his shoulders and lifted, laughing evilly.

"It's time to wake up! Wake up, buddy!" Dean taunted as he bounced Sam around like a marionette.

"Dean! No! _Not cool!_" Sam yelled exhaustedly, flailing around. After a couple of seconds, Sam couldn't help but break into laughter at how ridiculous this had to look. Dean was laughing pretty hard by now, too.

"Stop it oh my god, Dean," Sam pleaded limply, and, with one last bounce to the left, Dean tempered down and gently set his little brother back in his sleeping bag. Sam flipped over onto his back immediately, his eyes still only half-open, and sat up.

"You don't _shake people_, Dean, that's _abuse_," Sam said as he rubbed his eyes, laughing tiredly.

"Yeah, yeah-" Dean laughed as he unzipped the tent and stepped out. "C'mon," he added, throwing a charming smile back at Sam from outside the tent.

"Give me a minute – I'm coming-" Sam promised and Dean nodded approvingly and stepped away from the tent. Sam watched him go and sighed, wondering what yesterday had been about.

The rest of the trip was flawless and the three of them continued their training like the day had never happened. Sam wrote it off: he figured Dean had just been 'in a mood,' which, Sam knew, would happen every now and again.

_Writer's Note: Thank you for reading! Please review – I adore reviews! Cheers! ~ Alex Kerr_


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